He ran all night, not because he was in a hurry but because he didn't want to run into any more trouble.
The last encounter had been a good warm-up, testing his new strength against regular thugs, but he knew if he wasn't careful, he might actually kill someone next time.
The thought didn't bother him as much as it should have, which probably said something about his mental state that he didn't want to examine too closely.
The towns he passed were just blurs of dim lights and quiet streets, each one looking exactly like the last in that generic way small towns always did.
Same chain stores, same layout, same everything, like someone had copy-pasted them across the landscape. He didn't stop at any of them, didn't even slow down to catch his breath because he didn't need to, his new body handling the constant exertion like it was nothing.
A few hours before sunrise, when the sky was still that deep purple-black that came before dawn, he finally saw it in the distance, a sea of glowing lights shining like a beacon against the darkness. Zenith City, the place where everything had gone wrong, the place he'd called home for twenty-one years before they threw him out like garbage.
He slowed to a walk as he approached the city limits, his heart doing something weird in his chest that had nothing to do with the running. The checkpoint was mostly empty at this hour, just a bored guard playing on his phone who barely glanced at him before waving him through.
As the sun began to peek over the horizon, painting everything in warm orange and gold, he stopped for a moment to just breathe it in.
The familiar smell of the city hit him first, that mix of exhaust fumes, street food, and something indefinably urban that every big city had. This was it, his second chance at life, and there was no way in hell he was going to waste it.
But the moment he stepped past the city gates and onto the main street, the memories hit him like a physical blow to the gut.
He saw himself six months ago, clothes torn and bloody, being dragged through these same streets by an angry mob.
He remembered the jeers and curses, the faces of people who'd once called him friend twisted with rage and disgust, chasing him with bottles and rocks, wanting to beat him down for a crime he didn't commit.
He remembered tripping on these same cobblestones, skinning his knees as he scrambled to get away.
He exhaled slowly, pushing the bitterness down where it couldn't touch him, and started walking through the familiar streets like a ghost returned from the grave.
Nothing had really changed in the months he'd been gone, the same shops lined the roads with their colorful awnings, the same vendors were setting up their stalls for the morning rush, even the same stray cat was sleeping in the doorway of the old bookstore.
It was weird how life just went on without you, like you'd never existed at all.
Then he saw it on the corner of Fifth and Main, the little crepe stand with its cheerful yellow umbrella, run by that kind old man who made the best damn crepes in the entire city.
His stomach growled and an excited grin spread across his face before he could stop it, muscle memory carrying him over before his brain could remind him why this was a bad idea.
"Hello, one of your special crepes, please."
He sat down at one of the small outdoor tables, the metal chair wobbling slightly on the uneven sidewalk just like it always had.
Everything was exactly the same, from the checkered tablecloths that were slightly sticky from the morning dew to the chipped paint on the chairs that had been there since he was a kid.
To him it felt like he'd been gone for years, decades even, but to everyone else it had only been a few months.
The vendor, Mr. Cha, shuffled over with that same warm smile he always wore, his wrinkled face crinkling around kind eyes. He set down a plate with practiced ease, the beautiful golden-brown crepe folded perfectly and filled with fresh strawberries and real whipped cream, not that fake stuff most places used.
Vell's mouth watered as he reached for his fork, already imagining that first perfect bite, but before his fingers could close around it, Mr. Cha's eyes widened in recognition. The kindness vanished from his face like someone had flipped a switch, replaced by a flash of pure anger and something that might have been fear.
He snatched the plate away so fast that cream splattered on the table.
"You! What are you doing back here? Do you have a death wish?"
The old man practically ran back into his shop, fumbling with his phone as he went, probably to call the guards or worse, that neighborhood watch group that liked to take justice into their own hands. The other customers who hadn't recognized him yet started whispering among themselves, confused about what he could have done to anger sweet old Mr. Cha who never raised his voice at anyone.
'Shit, I shouldn't have gotten so excited about the food, but damn, I really wanted that crepe, it's so delicious.'
He got up to leave before this turned into a scene, but Mr. Cha rushed back out with his phone pressed to his ear, speaking rapidly in a mix of English and Mandarin.
'Guess he's telling everyone I'm back, whatever, I'm not scared anymore.'
His fingers twitched as dark energy flickered across them for just a second, invisible to normal people but there all the same. The thought crossed his mind unbidden: 'Maybe I should just kill him, he was one of the first to turn on me after all, almost shot at me back then when I was running.'
He took a deep breath, forcing the murderous impulse down because this wasn't the time for violence, not yet, not over a crepe.
'Tch, let's just get out of here before this escalates, it's not worth the hassle.'
"DON'T YOU DARE COME BACK TO MY SHOP, YOU FREAK!" Mr. Cha screamed after him, his face red with rage. "NEXT TIME I WON'T LET YOU OFF SO EASILY!"
He ignored the outburst and walked away as the whispers of the crowd followed him like a swarm of invisible insects. It didn't take long before more people started recognizing him, probably because Mr. Cha's call had already spread through the neighborhood group chat.
He could feel their stares boring into his back, see the disgust and fear in their eyes when he passed, but he didn't care anymore because they were nothing to him now, just NPCs in his story.
'It's getting annoying being barefoot though, my feet are fine but I look like a hobo, so let's go buy some shoes.'
He changed direction, heading toward the shopping district he knew well from back when he had money to spend. He walked past LUXE, a fancy high-end clothing store with mannequins that looked more alive than most of the people shopping inside, their perfect plastic faces frozen in expressions of vague superiority.
But his destination wasn't there, it was the tiny, run-down shoe shop right next to it that looked like it had been sandwiched between the luxury stores by accident.
'Stubborn old man, still operating next to a luxury boutique after all these years, how does he expect to get any customers?'
He gently pushed the door open, careful not to break the fragile glass that was held together with duct tape in one corner.
The shop was exactly as he remembered it, a complete mess with everything covered in a thick layer of dust as if the owner had given up on cleaning years ago. Shoes were piled haphazardly on shelves that looked ready to collapse, and the air smelled like old leather and disappointment.
He looked around, his eyes landing on a pair of simple white slippers that caught his attention for some reason. They looked comfortable and more importantly, they looked like they'd fit.
'Nice, and only 99 credits, the old man is still generous with his prices even if his shop is falling apart.'
He walked over to the counter and noticed the door to the back office was slightly ajar with voices coming from inside. Not normal conversation voices either, but the tense kind that meant trouble was happening. Curious and maybe a little bored, he casually pushed the door open and stepped in without knocking.
The scene was worse than he expected. Two tough-looking guys with guns were standing over the old shop owner who was slumped in his chair, blood running from his nose and his left eye already swelling shut. Another man sat behind the desk, leisurely twirling a knife like he had all the time in the world.
The man with the knife looked up as Vell entered, and his eyes widened in recognition before a grin spread across his scarred face.
"Well well, look who it is," the man said, standing up and walking toward him with that same cocky swagger he'd always had. "Mister Pervert is back in town."
He pointed the knife at Vell, studying him in silence while the fluorescent lights hummed overhead.
The other two goons grew tense, their hands moving toward their guns because this wasn't how these situations usually went. Their boss was supposed to be threatening people, not greeting them like old friends. But the man with the knife just laughed, the sound echoing in the small room.
"HAHAHA! What happened to you, man? You look different, younger and more handsome, trying to look better than your bro?"
The other gang members looked even more confused now because their usually violent leader was being genuinely friendly with this random guy who'd just walked in.
Vell smirked, recognizing the voice now. "Tch, still beating up old men, huh Leo? When are you going to change?"
Leo's smile faded and something darker crossed his face. "We have a good reason this time, not just collecting debts."
He walked back to the desk and pulled out a small wooden box from underneath, the kind people used to keep jewelry in, and called Vell over with a gesture that was both casual and serious.
He opened the box and Vell's blood went cold. Inside were dozens of photos of young girls, all taken from a distance with a telephoto lens, like a stalker's collection. He recognized several faces from the neighborhood, kids who played in the park after school, and then he saw one that made everything click into place.
"Wait, is that—?" he whispered, but he couldn't finish the sentence before Leo nodded grimly.
"That's the boss's one and only daughter," Leo said, his voice dropping to something dangerous. "You remember how he used to freak out when she was just playing near you back in the day? What do you think he'd do if he found out about this old creep taking pictures of her?"
"How did you find out about this?"
"We caught him in the park with a camera, taking pictures of kids playing," Leo explained, closing the box with disgust. "At first we didn't think much of it, thought maybe he was just a grandfather or something, but he kept doing it over and over, always the same kids, always hiding behind trees. We got suspicious and confronted him, figured if we were wrong we'd apologize, maybe give him some credits for the trouble, but after we found these..."
Leo gestured to the box like it was radioactive. "If we take him to the boss, things will get ugly, real ugly, like feed-him-to-the-dogs ugly."
Leo looked at Vell, then at the bruised old man who was whimpering in his chair, and Vell could see the conflict in his friend's eyes. This wasn't the same punk kid who used to steal candy bars for fun, this was someone who'd found a line even he wouldn't cross.
Vell pulled out the pouch of credits he'd "earned" last night and placed 99 on the table, the coins making a soft clink against the wood. He looked at Leo one last time, seeing the weight of what was about to happen here.
"I get what you need to do," he said quietly, meaning it. "I don't like this side of you, but I can't stop you, and honestly, I won't try. Come find me later and I'll treat you to something good, something expensive."
He gave Leo a quick, firm hug that surprised both of them, the kind of hug that said more than words could, and started to leave. Leo watched him go, sensing something fundamentally different about his old friend, the way he walked with purpose instead of shame, the way he talked without apologizing for existing, the look in his eyes that had gone from broken to something else entirely.
'I'm sorry you went through so much because of lies, my friend,' Leo thought, a flicker of genuine sadness crossing his face. 'I hope you can recover and move on.'
He placed the box back on the desk and walked over to the old man, cracking his knuckles with a sound like breaking twigs. It was time to finish the job.